


Escaping the Spider

by Degensa



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, Forced Prostitution, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Suicidal Thoughts, Technically this is worm fandom, but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:28:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26774428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Degensa/pseuds/Degensa
Summary: Drunk, depressed, and trapped. That accurately summarizes Robert's current life at the Spider's Web, a sex ranch owned by Recluse; a man with Connections that make him untouchable to the world. Then a bodyguard by the name Felix comes into the Web--and Robert finally finds an opportunity for escape.
Relationships: Gizmo/Fell
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	1. Ante

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Legitimate Fic involving the pairing of two OC's of a discord superhero RP server I'm on. (Not my OC's, although one may show up in a cameo.) I don't expect this to be highly read or anything, I just wanted to put it out there because screw you that's why. Both players gave me permission to write a shipping fic of their characters, so it's all good. Thanks to the people who let me use their characters.

Mornings are always the roughest. 

Robert wakes up with a pounding hangover that simply refuses to go away; even after he gulps down the entire bottle of water he keeps hidden under his mattress. He winces, pressing fingers to his temple as if that could soothe the throbbing. 

A tiny bit of concern filters through him when he realizes nobody else is in the room with him; There were at least 9 others in this shithole they called a dormitory; so there was usually at least _one_ other person here. That he was the only one was a bit...spooky? Off-putting?

Those thoughts quickly change when he realizes the ramifications. _Fuck_ , was he late?

Shit. Maybe he was.

Robert hurriedly looks over his clothing, scowling at the meager selection. As usual, it's not exactly on the functional side--just slutty.

There's at least a sort of crop-top he can pull down if he's willing to let his shoulder show as well as a pair of sweats.

 _Fuck it_. He thinks to himself.

Robert yanks them on and hurries to brush his teeth and floss, to brush his hair until it at least _looks cute_. He can fix it up later if he hasn't been called on. 

Clients hated people with smelly breath and dirty mouths. That was something Recluse expected highly of _everyone_.

He rushes downstairs, towards the little windowless kitchenette to maybe-- _hopefully_ \--grab a bagel. There usually was one or two left over. It was what he expected. Unfortunately, his life had begun to take on a kind of humdrum tedium over the months he’d been trapped here. He hated it. It was the same thing every morning.

Wake up. Hate life. Hate life's decisions. Wonder what his family was up to, if they were still looking or even cared, and most importantly…

 **Survive**.

Robert makes it down to the kitchen and sees that there aren't any bagels he can grab. There isn’t much food left here today, actually. Fantastic, today was looking to be a bad day then. He takes an orange from the fruit bowl instead, tossing it once before hurrying onwards.

As Robert walks and eats, he considers how bad _this_ day will be.

On a good day, he'd only get called on once or twice before being able to clean up, eat lunch/dinner, and go back to the dormitory. It could happen.

On a very bad day, he'd probably be expected to "wait" on a bunch of gay pricks with thin wallets and an appetite for pain and punishment for the entire night.

Thank god the very bad days didn’t happen a lot. That was one very tiny drop of relief in a desert of shittiness.

Robert isn't one of the more… popular prostitutes at the _Spider's Web_ , for which he's glad. He isn't a woman, for instance. Isn't particularly young or "pretty" in the sense some of the boys are, either. His ' _newness_ ' wore off ages ago and was currently centered on a very unfortunate young woman who went by the name India.

But he is..."cheap", or so they tell him, and durable; which some of the more sadistic clients like.

It doesn't sound any better in his head, but it's worked, so far. Even for a secretive place that advertised itself as a place you could do “almost anything” to a person without repercussion, there just weren’t as many sadists out there as people tended to think. Some nights Robert isn't "called on" at all, and he can just drink himself to near unconsciousness at the _Web's_ bar in an attempt to forget where he is. _What_ he is. He enjoys those moments the most, even when it leads to massive morning hangovers like on _this_ particular day.

At least it was also doing a good job of killing his liver. Maybe someday it would be enough for Recluse to finally _off_ him.

Robert eats quickly, finishing the orange as he gets into the meeting room and joins the others where they’re sitting, on pretty, prearranged couches, loveseats, and sofas. The room here is just as cold and windowless despite the seating. The other prostitutes are already there, murmuring quietly amongst themselves. The guys make room for him and he nods in a bit of gratitude, sitting down.

Recluse's hands are on his shoulders almost as soon as he sits. He flinches automatically, shoulders drawing together. _Shit_.

"Mr. Key!" He says. 

A thrill of fear races through him.

Robert doesn't turn, forcing a frozen smile on his face. Best one he's done in a while. His gaze dips to the floor while the others push away from him slightly, jostling each other in the effort to subtly avoid any fallout.

"Good morning...Boss." He gets out as politely as possible. The urge to shrug the hands off is resisted. He finds his own hands already clenched into fists.

"I didn't see you this morning. Running late?"

It's very hard to think on account of the headache. Robert struggles through it anyway.

"I just...didn't know what clothes to wear." He lies.

"Strange. Because Cassandra told me you'd been drinking last night."

... _Fuck_ Cassandra.

"I wasn't busy. You know that."

He laughs. "I suppose that's fair. Hangover or not, though, I expect you to show up _on time_."

Recluse pats his stiff shoulders twice with his hands before pulling away; Robert's tension and anxiety drop as quickly as his fake smile, although he tries not to show it. The two beside him inch back in slowly afterward. A few of the others in the room give him sympathetic looks, even if they don't dare say anything while Recluse is there with them. 

"Now that our _latest_ man is here, we can begin." Recluse says as he moves to the front of the room.

Recluse clears his throat, putting his hands behind his back as he spins to face his captive audience. "We'll be hosting a weeklong celebratory bash with several business executives at 12 PM today. Obviously, your task is to keep them all as happy and entertained as possible."

Robert rubs absentmindedly at bruised wrists as Recluse keeps talking, frowning down at the healing marks. To be fair, 'entertained' meant it was very likely there would be booze. There was a silver lining to all this.

"I want you all to be on your best behavior, of course. Those who refuse to behave will be _appropriately disciplined_. Each of our guests will be picking a special person to ‘help their personal needs ’. They’ll also be able to take any other person with a silver collar when or if they so choose." He says with a smile.

Because of course. Fucking perverted, horny freaks. They probably weren't here for "normal" sex. "Normal" sex was with a consenting person of appropriate age who could reject or deny any particularly shitty requests. That wasn't an option for people like him, those who'd been caught in the _Spider's Web._

Naturally, Robert doesn’t like it, even though this "celebration" is more of a danger for the others around him. It’s highly unlikely that someone like him will be “chosen” for anything in this sort of event. He glances briefly to the women’s side of the couches, where all ten of them have huddled together. There’s a nervous kind of attentiveness to their faces, something he can tell even from where he’s sitting. They’re all a bit scared, sitting up straighter with eyes locked on Recluse as he keeps talking. Only Oni seems to have a sense of relative calm about her.

“Today, I want you all to take a nice bath and dress up. Remember the rules--and we won’t have any problems.” he finishes.

With that, the meeting is dismissed. Recluse leaves and the tension and anxiety deflate like air out of a balloon. Most people scramble to get out of there as quickly as possible, although Robert just sinks back further into the couch and sighs.

One of those kids sitting next to him, a pretty, young thing with the stage name ‘Ivy’, stays seated.

"...I hate this place." Ivy mumbles, eyes downcast. His hand is on the thin metal band hung like a weight around his neck, toying with the attached tag. Robert has one just like it. It’s their mutual mark of _belonging_ to Recluse.

"Don't we all, kid." Robert answers. A loud stomach growl interrupts both of them; Ivy looks embarrassed. 

"...Did you eat?" He asks.

Silently, Ivy shakes his head.

Robert rubs at his eyes as if that could scrub away the ache still fogging his brain. _Fuuuuuck_ this headache.

"Well, don't just fucking sit around. Go eat something. You can be hungry and unhappy, or you can be full and unhappy." He tells Ivy grouchily. "We're all stuck in this situation, so you might as well make yourself a little less unhappy."

The boy nods and gets off the couch. His shy, doe-like eyes turn towards Robert. "Um...do _you_ want anything?"

"I'll be alright; I can get lunch later." He answers.

Robert gets up once Ivy leaves, keeping an eye on him. He seemed to be particularly fragile, worn down by this shitty place. He would probably need to talk to Oni about him later.

He goes to find Cassandra after that; she’s probably at the downstairs bar right now. The woman's cleaning a glass as he enters, staring blankly into its depths as though she can see something _else_ beneath.

" _Cass."_

She jolts in surprise, nearly dropping the glass. Her voice, initially high with fear, soon sinks into relief. "S-sorry, Mr. Re--...oh. Mr. Key?"

" _Gizmo_ ." He corrects her immediately, not at all bothering to hide the irritation which had already been churning inside him because of her mistake. Down here, it was _all_ stage names. Plus, he didn't particularly care for her using his real name even if they were friendly enough. 

"And don't _goddamn_ tell him when I'm down here drinking."

She takes a step back, holding her hands up defensively. "I-I'm sorry, okay? He came to me and asked. He already knew _something_ was up. I can't just say no to him or else he'd actually check the tapes. And then we'd _both_ be in trouble."

He knows she's right, logically speaking; she was looking out for herself. He'd do the same. That doesn't affect the coil of anger in his gut at all.

Neither does it help the flicker of fear somewhere higher in his chest. _How did he know in the first place?_ He wonders.

Before Robert can take another step, before he can demand answers from her, Cass sets the glass down, eyes downcast. "Look. Look. We can--I'll pour you some more booze and it'll be fine. I didn't mean to get you into trouble. Okay?"

Her eyes glance nervously towards the door; and then at the cameras as if Recluse was watching them right _now_. 

"Maybe we can sneak some of the good stuff?" She whispers.

Turning, Cass slides a blue, opaque bottle of tequila from the bottom shelf and pours out two cups, using her back and careful positioning to block the camera view. One for her and one for him. Robert hesitates when he sees the drink, but seeing it poured for her as well soothes some of his paranoias. He downs his drink almost as soon as it's handed to him.

"...Thanks." He grunts. It’s not worth getting mad at the woman who holds the keys to the liquor store; her peace offering is enough--...for now. The headache starts to go away.

She leans in, fingers resting on the rim of her own shot glass. "...Did you hear about the celebration thing, yet? _He_ was telling the waitstaff about it an hour ago."

"Yeah. Oni’s not gonna be happy about it."

She makes a face. "It's gonna be a hassle for us, _too_. I just hope we can, uh, keep up."

"Mm." Robert sits down on a barstool with a sigh.

"You won't go?" Cass asks. She looks surprised, surreptitiously gulping down her share of the tequila and putting both glasses into the sink to get washed later.

"Do I _look_ like the kind of guy they'd be interested in fucking?" He snorts.

"Yeah, that's fair. Still, you never know." Her eyes glance over him, settling briefly on the collar. “I wouldn’t...wanna make him angry.”

They’re both quiet for a while. Just...thinking.

“...Yeah.” Robert agrees, voice just a little dead. 

He gets off the stool; slow and sullen. Begins his trek upstairs to change again.

 _Fuck_ this life.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s a long period of waiting after that. Robert does his best to clean up, although he has little expectation of being _chosen_ by any of the participants. He leaves the bathroom for the women, passing Oni as she herds them around expertly; a sheepdog guiding her flock.

After the hangover wears off, along with the pleasant buzz from the tequila, the waiting is probably the hardest part. More details filter in as time passes, rumors flying almost as fast as their corrections. Four people, one bodyguard. A bodyguard? Yes, one of those guys was apparently the heir of a bigger parental corporation, and his daddy wanted protection _just in case_. He’d heard of them before Recluse, before he’d been brought into the Spider’s Web. NovaTech or something. They made medical stuff worth hundreds of millions, if not a billion.

Robert keeps track of those rumors if only to give himself something to do.

He learns they had recently achieved a breakthrough in their research, that they were now flush with cash and _hope_ for a better future.

It stood to follow the bigwigs who hadn’t personally made the breakthrough would go off celebrating this way.

The time comes, far too quickly for Robert’s tastes. He moves to the lounge area where the others are, watching as Cass and some of her fellow waitstaff people put up the finishing touches.

Oni meets him again as he settles into a seat further back from the others, knees drawn together. Best not to stand out. An antsy feeling eats away at him, no longer hidden by the alcohol.

“How are you holding up?” Oni asks, casual and lazy despite her regal appearance. She’s chosen a rich red kimono that hangs just inches below her hips to show off a pair of white panties. A filmy sash is wrapped around her elbows. The Japanese woman flips her braid over her shoulder, looking down at him.

“Fine.” Robert says brusquely.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He ignores the slight hunger pang. Maybe he should have eaten more than an orange.

She frowns but nods. “Ivy says thanks.”

“I shouldn’t _have_ to give him a reminder to eat.” Robert growls in response.

As if _finally_ getting the message that he doesn’t want to talk to her right now, Oni moves on, back to her spot amongst the other women.

The businessmen step inside the lounge one by one a bit earlier than expected. Sampling the wares it seems. Robert watches them suspiciously, taking a good look at each in turn. Two older men with varying amounts of grey in their hair, two younger men with the arrogant look of people who were used to not being questioned. And behind one of _those_ men, a guy with curly blond hair and a large nose, is a fifth, one who could almost be mistaken for one of the party if not for his far less expensive attire.

A tall and thinnish man with slicked black hair, he looks almost Robert’s age; maybe a bit older. He’s not entirely _handsome_ per-se. His face is just a little too angular, nose too long, eyes too narrow. But his looks are _arresting_ ; the kind to cause a person to stop and stare for a moment.

And Robert finds himself caught. At least until the man reaches out, grabbing the younger blond man by the elbow and murmuring something in his ear, tugging him off somewhere else.

“Welcome, welcome!” Recluse says cheerily once the last person arrives. “This is the Spider’s Web, where every desire may be catered to you. Please, enjoy yourselves. I’ll have everyone introduce themselves to you in a moment. But first, may we have _your_ names?”

They introduce themselves quickly, one of the older men already moving towards the women.

The blonde man is Martin Orellios, son of Steven Orellios; the founder of NovaTech. The nepotism is _so_ fucking obvious you could crash a plane with it.

The younger man beside him is George Himada, a short-ish Asian man with shorn black hair. Probably wouldn’t have been able to find someone who’d actually be into him with those looks.

Adam Moore--the older, heavyset one moving towards the women, jowls wobbling. Probably also why he was at a place like the Spider’s Web.

The second older man, staying behind and watching disinterestedly is Derek Richardson.

The bodyguard remains silent. Until Recluse points at him with his cane; a long, hooked birchwood thing he never tired of carrying around.

“Name?” He prompts.

The man’s eyes flicker towards Recluse. He exhales slowly.

“Felix Watters.” He says, before returning to watching Martin get some alcohol from the set-up bar.

After introductions are done, the other two spread out, looking at the prettier women and men on display. Recluse names each and every one of them when prompted. In the meanwhile, Robert just tries to sink deeper into the chair to hide; although it’s unlikely they’d be interested in a busted up old thing like him.

The only one who really seems to notice him is the bodyguard, who glances at him for a moment, looks him up and down before moving on. Then again he’s doing that with every _other_ prostitute here too, as if visually confirming for himself that they wouldn’t harm his apparent charge.

“How this works,” Recluse says, “is simple. You may show your wristbands to almost anyone or anything in order to get what you want. You have access to all sections of my Web aside from the inner offices. My waitstaff must give you whatever they have on hand food or drink wise. You may use any of the phones in each of the rooms to send over whatever you like. Food, drugs, women, movies, music. Whatever you don’t have, ask me and I will get it personally. Every evening will be a large banquet catered by my loyal and talented chefs.”

His smile widens. “As well you may pick your companion from any of these beautiful men and women with but a kiss within the day. Anyone with a silver collar like this may be chosen. They’ll help you get acclimated, act as your loyal assistants _and_ serve you in many other ways. You are their master, they are your slave.”

“Can I change my companion if I want?” Moore asks, leering at the women he’s mostly cornered on the couch. Oni is one of them, her expression one of careful neutrality. Robert watches as the woman casually lets her thighs fall open and leans back, allowing the leerer to get a better view. Moore zeroes in on her immediately.

“Yes, you can. But not immediately. You should keep them just long enough so you know you’re getting your money’s worth.” Recluse answers cheerily.

“Ah, good.” The older man says before stepping forwards and kneeling into the couch in order to smash Oni’s lips against his. Robert can see her eyes widen briefly before she allows herself to sink into the kiss, putting both hands to his cheeks as it deepens.

Soon the other three have picked out their companions. Two of them are women, India and Red, respectively, but Richardson goes for a thin, androgynous slip of a young boy who went by ‘Willow’.

Recluse is pleased, but not completely finished. “Anyone else?” His eyes are purely on the bodyguard, now.

“I’m not one of the people celebrating.” the man responds.

He looks towards the blondie currently schmoozing with two women.

“Well, I do _insist_ you pick someone anyway.” Recluse says with a huff.

Watters is silent, calculating for a while before his next response.  
“You mentioned earlier that we had about a day to choose our ‘companion’. Does that still hold?”

Recluse nods. “Well, yes…”

“I’ll pick mine at a later part of the day, then. If it’s all the same to you.”

The man rolls his eyes. “...Fine, but please. Don’t take too long.”

Their companions picked, the partiers drift out one by one, all except for one. As they do, so too do the other prostitutes leave, and the waitstaff cleaning up. The man who’d chosen Oni has pulled her on top of him on the couch, though, and the young woman has acquiesced, sitting astride him with thin legs parted, sash sinking across his knees.

It looks like they’ll be busy for a while. Robert leaves so he doesn’t have to watch.

Watters seems to have left a while ago, along with his charge--and his charge’s companion. Robert idly wonders where they would have gone off to. He imagines for a brief moment Watters taking India from the front while Orellios takes her from behind. She wasn’t a fan of threesomes, but with two men that was something to be expected.

Recluse vanishes too, probably to jack off in the security room while watching his cameras or something. Fucker.

Cass flags him down a few minutes after he leaves, just as he starts heading to her bar. She looks a little stressed.

“Hey, um, can you find Dustin for me? It looks like we’re out of the Centenario 30 rum and we’re gonna be too busy figuring out what these pricks are into to get to him. I won’t have time to call him up on the phone. He’ll probably be in the offices.”

“Didn’t he get some for you guys a month ago?” He asks. His eyebrows furrow. Maybe that was one of the various alcohols he’d been drinking on the sly.

“ _Yes_ , but we’re out _again_. People _loove_ it, I dunno.” Cass takes a moment to stare meaningfully at him. ”Ask him to get two, so I don’t need to refill it again.”

Robert sighs, nodding. “Okay.”

He moves towards the back offices, over to where they planned out everything in the Web--from activities to acquiring drugs, food, drink. This was the heart of the Web. And of course, mostly closed off to those like _him_. There’s a big metal door with keycode access that proves it.

But...wait. Hold on.

He spots Watters standing off by himself, next to a clinging ivy wall planter and wall fountain beside the metal door. He casually pulls a cigarette box out of his pocket. But it’s odd. There’s a No Smoking sign right there, and the way Watters acts right now is...sketchy. He should be with Orellios right now, shouldn’t he?

Robert flattens himself against the wall, taking advantage of the cover it gives him, before watching silently.

There’s a black object inside the cigarette box that he palms, some sort of tech that Watters pulls out along with a cigarette. As Watters stands over the planter, he “accidentally drops” the box and as he picks it back up, he buries the bit of black tech inside the soil, still holding the cigarette in his other hand. It’s a very slick move, done in such a way that it’d be difficult to spot from any other angle than the one Robert’s peeking from right _now_.

...He’s up to something. A nervous tension begins to build up inside Robert, bubbling in his chest. He starts considering whether moving now would draw Watters’ attention or if he could slip away before he looks up. He doesn’t know _what_ Watters is up to, but he’d be damned if he found out. This was a little above his pay grade, and if he was caught _now_ it’d probably end poorly for him.

He’s just about to leave when he hears the footsteps of someone _else_ approaching and freezes.

The door to the offices whisks open. Recluse steps out, eyes glued to his phone--at least until he notices the other man at the fountain. The creep always knows just how to show up without announcing his presence.

"Mr. Watters!" He calls out. A smile is in his voice as he tucks his phone into his pocket. "What are you doing over here?"

To the man's credit, he is very quick on the draw, turning smoothly to face Recluse. His swivel towards the man is only paused once--to catch _Robert_ where he hides in the shadow of the hallway.

The bodyguard's brief glare at him is one that could melt ice; although the look is gone before he fully faces the other man.

Conversely, Robert finds himself shivering; frozen in place. Maybe it was the sheer intensity of the glare. Or maybe it was just the fear of being caught.

_Shit. Shit, shit shit._

What was he going to do if he got called out in front of Recluse? The continuing conversation drags his attention back towards them reluctantly.

"I'm making sure the area is secure." The bodyguard says, tone composed and neutral. "You seem to have a very well-protected facility, Recluse." He glances towards the metal door.

The other man waves it off. "Oh, it comes with what we do. A secret club like ours means you can't just let _anything_ leak out. We want to make sure our guests are _comfortable_ enough to express who they really are."

"It must cost a fortune." The man says, leaning back against the counter of the fountain and still holding onto his unlit cig. He hasn’t looked at Robert again.

"We make more than enough to make up for it. There’s a certain… _appetite_ we cater to, here, one that many people appreciate." Recluse replies. He looks at the cigarette briefly. "Mr. Watters, I must ask you _not_ to smoke in this particular spot. We have designated smoking sections elsewhere."

Although his voice is light, there is a hint of irritation just beneath the man's playful tone. Robert knows Recluse _hates_ smokers.

The other man frowns before taking the carton out and crushing the cigarette back into its housing.

"I believed it was smoker-friendly.” He says, gaze moving up to meet Recluse’s face. “What did you want to talk about?"

"Ah, I was wondering when you'd let me get to that." Recluse replies. "I only wanted to know if you'd found anyone in mind, yet?"

The man just stares at him with a cold, challenging expression. Recluse continues.

"I know I do seem a bit pushy, but I'd very much like to see you decide on someone soon, Mr. Watters. It's important to me that you do. I wouldn't want an uncomfortable _guest_ to ruin the mood of the Web."

"I'm not a guest. I'm here to do my _job_." Watters says blandly.

“Now, now. I think you misunderstand me, Mr. Watters. While you are here within these walls, _you are a guest_. I certainly can’t _force_ a guest to have a companion if they aren’t interested. I’m just saying, Mr. Watters, that this facility is intended for people who are happy to engage in certain...pleasures of the flesh. If you don’t agree, you would be escorted out of here. Peaceably is preferable.” Recluse responds.

The other man’s eyes narrow by a fraction.

“Do we understand each other?”

“...Yes.”

Robert nopes out of that conversation right after that, turning around to leave with the vague hope Watters won’t miss his absence. He freezes again when he hears a voice call out to him.

“You. Stop, whoever you are.” It’s the bodyguard, looking straight at him.

Robert’s heart starts to race, thudding worriedly inside his chest.

“Here. Come here.” the man says, waving him over like one would a dog.

Robert comes slowly, grudgingly. His feet are leaden and his mind flooded with dreadful thoughts. When he’s there, he stays as far as is allowed from Watters, head hung so as not to look either of them in the eyes.

“Now, where did you come from? Head up please, Mr. Key.” Recluse murmurs. He uses the cane to lift Robert’s chin.

He comes up with a partial lie on the spot. “I was… looking for _you_. Boss.” He tells Recluse, still not meeting either of their eyes. “Cass wanted to let you know, she needs to order in some more booze. We’re running low.”

The answer satisfies Recluse. On the other hand, the bodyguard just stares at him, unreadable gaze piercing. It’s like he can see _straight_ through his lie. Robert resists the urge to squirm.

“Ah, alright. I’ll have Dustin make note of it later. Perhaps he missed something. Thank you.” Recluse says, before straightening up. There’s a pause as he stares at the two of them.

“I should probably introduce you both. Gizmo, this is Felix. Felix Watters. You’ve probably met him already.”

Robert forces another smile. “Good...morning.”

“Good morning.” Watters echoes, distant and faintly uncaring. But then his face changes, his expression shifting as subtly as it had before. It’s only a micro shift, but enough for Robert to raise his guard--He’s staring at the collar.

“Recluse. You wanted me to find a companion?” he asks, glancing between Recluse and Robert. “I’ll use _him_. What did you say his name was, Gizmo?”

“Gizmo, hmm?” Recluse answers, an eyebrow quirked. There's amusement to his voice. “I didn’t take you as _that_ type of man.”

“He’ll do fine for my purposes.” Watters states.

“Good, good. Well then. This could be...interesting. You know how it works.” Recluse reminds him. There’s a malicious tinge mixed in with his jovial, upbeat voice. Robert wants to punch him in the nose for a brief, dizzying, enticing moment.

“Yes.” Watters says simply, before pulling Robert in by the back of the head for a kiss, thin fingers wrapping loosely around the back of his neck and tangling into his curly hair. Robert doesn’t struggle. His eyes only squeeze shut in despondent anticipation; he flinches when Watters kisses him, entire body stiff, but opens his mouth up anyway to let the man inside.

In the dark blindness behind his eyelids, Robert notes that the bodyguard is gentle, that he tastes of cigarette smoke which the cool dryness of peppermint only barely masks. It’s not a _terrible_ taste all things considered.

Then-- It’s over, and Watters pulls away, nearly glaring at Recluse. “I’ve picked. Now leave me alone.”

Recluse holds his hands up placatingly, the hooked part of his cane balanced between the curve of thumb and forefinger. “Of course, of course. I’ll leave you be.” He tells them before swanning out into the hallway past them.

“Do show him a good time, Gizmo!” He adds, a parting shot.

Robert struggles to control his spiking anxiety in the meantime. He has literally no idea who this guy is, just that he’s the bodyguard for one of the people at the party. And he's learned over the months that the unknown is bad. The unknown is painful.

Even so, he tries to assess what information he _does_ currently have on the man currently in front of him. That information is unfortunately very minimal.

Thing one. His name is Watters. _Felix Watters,_ his brain reminds him unhelpfully. Thing two. He’s a bodyguard for a man named Martin Orellios, one of the businessmen at the party. Thing three. _He’s up to something._

Maybe his panic is obvious because Watters looks towards him a moment later. “Calm down.” He says. There isn’t any pity or empathy in his words. Neither is it in his eyes.

Robert nods jerkily, his grip on his own biceps tightening. Huh, when did he grab those?

“Yes. Yeah. I’m calm, I’m calm. _B-boss_.” He kind of chokes out the last word. “Or do you want _sir_ , or _Master_ , or--”

“Boss is fine.”

Robert nods again, not quite looking at him. Which means he’s caught by surprise when two fingers hook under the silver collar, pulling him off balance and causing him to stumble forwards a step. He nearly falls into the other man’s chest and only catches himself at the last moment; close enough for Watters to give him a warning, growled low and quiet into his ear.

“Don’t tell anyone what you saw earlier. _Or I will make sure you regret it._ Do I make myself clear?”

Robert’s heart jumps straight into his throat. “...Crystal.”

Watters lets go of the collar, straightening up. “If you do understand, we’ll have no problems with each other.” He tells him.

Robert nods numbly, once more reminded of his place near the bottom of the totem pole.

Watters leaves. Robert, meanwhile, only slumps against the wall and tries to get back to some modicum of normality.

When his breathing's back to normal, his heart no longer a jackhammer in his chest, Robert moves over to the spot Watters had been, hesitating before brushing aside the mulch and loam of the pot to uncover the thin black device embedded deeply into the soil below. It’s flat and thin, only as wide as two of his fingers.

It'd be nearly impossible to spot normally, but Robert had been there for its setup. The thing does not beep or flash. But Robert would notice a small indicator light on one side as well as vents. The light is green.

How strange.

He leaves it alone, re-burying it under the earth to do whatever it needs to do.

He can't help but continue thinking about it as he moves back to the lounge.


End file.
